“You really had me for a moment,” she says, giving his arm a push. When his expression doesn’t budge, her eyes widen behind her glasses. “Oh.Oh shit.”
“I…don’t know what we’re doing.” He’s not about to tell his sister they hooked up in his office, in part because it still feels only half-real. Maybe he dreamed up the whole thing. “But I think I’ve been quite stupid about it. And we’re not dating. We’re friends, which somehow sounds even more bizarre?” He runs agonized hands down his face. “Jesus, I feel like a dirty old man.”
Every so often, this thought crosses his mind: that maybe after the quarter’s over, once there’s no longer that student-professorrisk, he could ask her out on a real date. But that doesn’t change the fact that she’s still twenty-six. Still famous. What, would he take her to his local pizza place for a slice? Bowling?
Somehow he has a feeling Ramona Wilder might like bowling.
Maybe he needs her dating help after all, because he’s not sure how to navigate any of this. How to separate all these warring desires. Is this what a midlife crisis looks like? He hadn’t expected it would hit him this soon.
“Professionalism aside,” Lexi says, and when Nick lifts his eyebrows, she gives him awe’ll get to thatlook. “Ten years isn’t that dramatic. Especially in LA. She’s an adult. You’re an adult. And she’s arguably lived through more than most people her age. If that’s your biggest concern, as opposed to how you actually feel about her…”
How he actually feels about her.As if that isn’t the question he’s been trying to answer for weeks.
Lexi isn’t wrong that Ramona’s lived through more than most twentysomethings, so much of it still a mystery to him.
“You don’t think it’s insane that I’m hanging out with a celebrity.” Telling his sister comes with a massive exhale. He hadn’t expected she’d be so…understanding about it.
“Oh, I definitely do.” Lexi swipes an uneaten pancake off his plate and bites into it. “But people seem to make it work. Wasn’t Matt Damon’s wife working as a bartender when they met?”
Nick almost laughs at this. “Not the same thing. And I’m not looking to get married again—I mean, I don’t know if that’s something she even wants—we’re just friends,” he repeats, flustered. He recalls what she said at the taco truck: that she wanted a family. Then again, that could mean any number of things, and marriage obviously isn’t a requirement.
Worried that he’s digging himself into a hole, he changes the subject. “There’s no good segue for this,” he says. “But…I’m looking at a couple apartments tomorrow.”
Lexi seems to take it—jokingly—as a personal affront. “Noooooo,” she says dramatically. “Why would you move when you have access to sibling pep talks twenty-four/seven?”
Truthfully, he’s not sure if he’s ready. But part of him feels like heshouldbe ready, that he ought to have his own space. Because as great as it’s been to be close to his sister and niece, he’d love to have room for all his records. A kitchen of his own.
A place to bring someone over, if he ever meets someone he feels comfortable doing that with.
When he imagines it, he tries really, really hard not to picture Ramona.
“I’m sure I’ll still be here through the end of the year. At least.”
“Ugh, fine. I respect your right to be a fully independent person or whatever.” She swipes around on her phone while he returns to his coffee, and something on the screen makes her nearly drop it. “Nick…I think you need to see this.”
When she passes him the phone, the pancakes feel like they might come right back up.
“I was just googling her,” Lexi says. “All I did was type in her name, and this article popped up.”
Ramona Wilder Goes Incognito at Clippers Game with Unidentified Male Friend, reads the headline, followed by a series of grainy photos of the two of them in their way-up-there seats. They don’t look especially coupley, thank fuck, but there’s a closeness to their interactions as they cheer for the team. An ease that he certainly didn’t feel that day, especially with how adorable she looked in all that Clippers gear.
The article was posted three days ago, and there’s an update at the top.The mystery man has been identified as Nick Navarro, a UCLA professor.
Shit.
He opens his work inbox, the one he mutes over the weekends and yet still religiously checks. Sure enough, right at the top is an email that makes his heart sink all the way to the floor.
Nick,
My apologies for emailing on a weekend, but this couldn’t wait. Please see me at your earliest convenience on Monday.
Dean Eckhart
—
“The light in this spaceis really special,” the real estate agent says cheerily, waving her arm with a flourish. “Would you look at that view?”
“Does it have pool access?” Ramona asks.
